


You Taste Like Birthday

by PastelCryptids



Series: I Know That It's a Waste of Time/ Chasing In the Dark [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angela and Fareeha are the same age, Bad Parenting, Birthday, F/F, I'm sorry Ana Amari fans, Internal Conflict, Past Abuse, Pre-Recall, Trans Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Transphobia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it's very minor, supportive girlfriends, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelCryptids/pseuds/PastelCryptids
Summary: "What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one." (Eleven, Sandra Cisneros)Birthdays were an odd experience for Fareeha.Too bad Angela Ziegler cares just a bit too much.
Relationships: Ana Amari & Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: I Know That It's a Waste of Time/ Chasing In the Dark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567657
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Birthdays were an odd experience for Fareeha. She had seen how the other soldiers into the Egyptian Army had smiled as they opened presents, or the agents at Helix cheering as they blew out their twenty-eight candle or thirty-fourth or sixty-sixth candle. But that experience just felt so… _Blank_ to her. Her stomach never filled with butterflies as she heard that old familiar tune. She never felt the giddiness of a three-year-old as she ripped open some cheap wrapping paper.

No, her mind wandered to more unsavory things. Memories her mind wanted to drown out. But like a balloon or pool floaties, will always come back up. The damned echoing of her younger voice. Before puberty had begun… Before she had taken estrogen. Her small, ten-year-old self at her own birthday party.

It _should've_ been so fun, it _could've_ been amazing.

_"Double digits!"_ Agents would cry in their fake, saccharine voices.

_Double digits,_ Her mind would echo. She was mature now — at least, that's what she hoped. It was that silly concept that with the flip of a switch, her silly nine-year-old brain would discard every childish whim and thought and replace it with maturity and respect.

But there she was arguing with her mother, for some reason that was still so blurry in Fareeha's mind (Not that it really mattered). Fareeha had strained her lungs, her screams clashing with her mother's own as they echoed throughout the steel walls, bouncing from wall to wall. Some part of Fareeha hoped _someone_ would hear, that perhaps Gabriel would overhear their screaming match and come running in.

But no one ever comes. No, no one ever tries to calm or interrupt a typical Amari argument, much to Fareeha's secret dismay.

In Fareeha's clenched fist rested a simple birthday card. A birthday card from _Angela._ It was another blurry part of Fareeha's memory that couldn't remember _why_ she had the birthday card, all she knew was that she couldn't release it.

That didn't seem to matter to her mother, however. In _another_ blurry moment (Fareeha hated how spotty that memory was, but at the same time she was somewhat thankful. It was sickeningly annoying), her mother had the card in her hand. And in the next —

It had been torn apart.

Everything seemed to collapse inside Fareeha. Every moment leading up to this, crashing down and clattering to the ground like a broken piggy bank. 

Ana fucking Amari. She who didn't even remember that Fareeha _hated_ the color green (she didn't even own clothes with the color) and put it on her stupid birthday cake. She who _knew_ Fareeha wanted a vanilla cake, even after Fareeha's constant comments about it… Made a cheap chocolate cake. She who bought Fareeha _Men's_ cologne and laughed about it which caused everyone else to laugh(But not Gabriel… Gabriel knew how unconfident Fareeha felt about her gender presentation; he knew how much it all meant to her). She who never even noticed — _cared_ that Fareeha never smiled for the rest of her birthday. She who didn't acknowledge that Fareeha never laughed during her favorite movie that evening.

And here that cursed woman was, dropping Fareeha's only relieving gift that night after _ripping it in_ _fucking half._

Ana had grabbed Fareeha as she attempted to fall to the floor to grab that card. The women's grip so tight around Fareeha's head and shoulder. Not even caring that her daughter was crying out in pain.

Her mother left her room a little while after that. The scoldings her mother spat at her slowly burning into her mind.

_"I'm only trying to help, Habibti. Being a brat is too immature for you. You're ten."_

Fareeha had collapsed onto the cold floor, the card inches away from her. Warm tears ran down her face as her stomach turned to lead. A small part of her at the time wished she died then and there. But no, she could still feel her chest rise and fall quickly. She could hear the childish sniffles and whimpers.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe Fareeha was being a brat. Maybe she deserved whatever reason that card was ripped. (Her mother _was_ older and wiser).

It took some time for her to stand again, even then it was on shaky, noodle-like legs. She grabbed the ripped card, pressed her lips against it and kissed it (As if it would help at all). An instinctual reminder popped into her head then. Her mother would come into her room, check to see if Fareeha was behaving again. But this time, she would probably take the card too.

But not if Fareeha lied. Her mother would feel no need to try and find the card if Fareeha simply lied and said she threw it away. So, she shoved into the deep recesses of her closet. She would check it every so often, just to feel a spark of hope that everything would be fine. 

Birthdays never really felt _right_ from then on. That stupid song, ( _"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you")_ taunting her like one of those silly songs children sing on the playground when they _really_ wanted to hurt, when they want to get under her skin. 

Each year felt like an extra pound of lead in her stomach, an extra penny in a jar. Each candle that makes the room burn a _little_ brighter, just to be snuffed out once more.

Perhaps that's why her twenty-third birthday, thirteen years later, hurts just a little more.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun seems to shine just a  _ little  _ too bright or just a  _ little  _ too dim on one’s birthday. And, perhaps, it’s like that every day, humans just don’t care enough to pay that much attention on any other normal day. For Fareeha, today was obnoxiously bright. The see-through curtains Angela had insisted on buying were barely strong enough to block the blinding rays shining through the window. Fareeha was, unfortunately, incredibly aware of this. She had been awake for hours, barely aware of each second that ticked by. She could have gotten up at any time, but perhaps it was the soft chirping of two birds who decided to choose  _ her  _ window sill for a nest, or perhaps it was the blanket, far too weak to protect her from the sun’s penetrating rays.

But if there were anything that would convince Fareeha to escape her mindless, monotonous blanket prison, it would be the soft sizzling of she and Angela’s stove and the sweet aroma slowly filling the bedroom. 

So, Fareeha sat up, pressing her stumps against her pillow and resting her back against the bedframe. Things were going pretty well, getting up and staying awake wise, but then there was also that small reminder.

She needed Angela to get her wheelchair.

“Ya Elahi.” Fareeha groaned as she sank into her bed again.

There  _ was  _ the option of calling Angela over, but Fareeha didn’t want to interrupt the busy woman. There was  _ also  _ the option of just sitting and waiting, but then Fareeha would get incredibly bored. Fareeha chose the latter.

She began to fall back into the bed, tugging the blanket over her bare shoulders. The birds were chirping louder, and at this point, Fareeha was tempted to just open the window and make those birds realize the consequences of their actions. But there were eggs in there… It would be cruel of her to do such a thing to birds who just didn’t understand human structures.

Her odd bird thoughts were interrupted as a sweet yet off-tune humming came closer to the door. Angela gently opened the door, holding a fresh-smelling plate. She wore an adorable and dopey grin as she cleared her throat.

“Happy birthday, mein Liebling.” Angela sang, sitting beside Fareeha. She gently placed the plate on the nightstand.

Fareeha sat up once more and studied the plate. A small group of blintzes sat in the middle of the plate, finely decorated.

She looked up at Angela and smiled. “What’s all this?”

Angela shrugged. “Just a little treat,” She said. “A sort of precursor to this evening.”

“This evening?”  _ That  _ made Fareeha curious (It also made her blood run cold, but she would never tell Angela that).

“Well, last year we didn’t get to do anything on your birthday…”

Angela had gotten a major stomach bug. The poor woman was throwing up every five minutes while sobbing about how sorry she was for ruining Fareeha’s birthday. Despite how dark it sounded, Fareeha was actually quite thankful that they stayed home, eating gross, plain crackers.

“And you don’t have to do anything this year.” Fareeha interrupted.

“Ah…” Angela said. “I don’t think so. Today is  _ your  _ day and I refuse to just let you sit around all day.”

_ That would be much more preferable…  _ Some spiteful part of Fareeha grumbled. 

Angela continued, “I’ve planned a few things we could do today, but since you’re the star of the show today, I’ll let you make the final decisions.”

Fareeha frowned. “I —”

“I’ve looked at places to go and visit in Giza… Other than the monuments, obviously,” Angela explained. “There’s an escape room, a cheap pottery class — I like that one, tons of museums, aquariums, zoos —”

“I like pottery.” Fareeha interrupted.

Angela jumped and the bubble of focus popped around her. “What?”

“Let’s… Go to a pottery class.”

Fareeha had never truly cared about sculpture and the like but if it made Angela happy…

Angela smiled. “Oh! Okay… Let me check the website.”

Fareeha watched as Angela began to leave the bedroom. She looked down at her plate and her arm stumps.

“Ah, Angela —”

Her girlfriend spun around. “Yes?”

Fareeha awkwardly waved her stump. Angela’s eyes widened as she yelped and ran to the shelf charging Fareeha’s prosthetics.

Today, Fareeha decided, was going to be interesting.

* * *

“So,” Angela said, releasing the pent up steam in her body. “That didn’t go exactly as planned… But it’s fine!”

The others there happened to have an awful habit of staring at Fareeha and her appendages (Or lack thereof). There was also the whole singing debacle. Angela, bless her heart, happened to speak way too loud about Fareeha’s birthday and thus the teacher paused the entire class just to sing. That set off every alarm in Fareeha’s mind as her breathing became quicker. The atmosphere became heavier. Her face burned.

To put it simply, Angela and Fareeha spent the rest of the class trying to slow Fareeha’s breathing and stop a self-inflicted asthma attack.

“What on earth caused that?” Angela had said.

“Just…” Fareeha sighed and rested her head against the bathroom wall. “Social anxiety.” She bullshitted.

They remained silent, sitting in the bathroom staring at the tile floor below them for the rest of the class. A woman had knocked on the door a little while later, kicking them out in about the kindest way one can.

Angela clapped her hands. “We’ve still got all night to enjoy your day!”

Fareeha gave jazz-hands. “Hoorah.”

* * *

Fareeha shifted back and forth in her seat in the dining room. The dinner they had eaten was still resting in her stomach, still feeling oh so heavy.

Angela brought out a large plate with a just as large cake sitting proudly on top of it. It was painted in blue frosting with carefully formed gold accents. Twenty-three candles rested in the cake, each burning brightly. The grin upon Angela’s face was intoxicating.

“Ta-da!” She cried, placing the cake onto the table. “Hopefully it’s good enough for your standards; Ingrid helped me make it. It’s vanilla, I know you like that. I also made sure we used buttercream icing…”

“It’s lovely,” Fareeha whispered.

That obnoxious feeling of happiness and disgust washed over her, drowning any other logical thought. Angela pushed the cake forward and looked at Fareeha’s face. With a single deep breath, she began singing that dreaded song.

_ “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, Fareeha, happy birthday to you…” _

__ Fareeha cringed and quickly blew out the candles. They were stubborn little bastards, but that hadn’t stopped her before. The lights were snuffed out and only the faint light of the kitchen remained. Angela chuckled and squealed, clapping her hands. She grabbed a knife and began cutting out a slice of cake. Another smaller plate was placed in front of Fareeha. Angela began to walk out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, birthday girl, I have one more thing to give you.”

Angela brought out a large box covered in wrapping paper with little cats. She placed it in Fareeha’s arms, her grin wider than her own face.

“It’s… Big.” Fareeha forced out.

How very astute.

“Well, open it, silly!” Angela cheered.

Fareeha tore the paper open, the lead in her stomach becoming heavier. Her hand ran over the cover of the box.

“A CD player…” She murmured.

Angela nodded. “Yeah! I saw you constantly messing with it when we visited Rein, and I saw you ogling it at that thrift store… So I bought one!” She suddenly shrank down, fiddling with her hands. “Hopefully you like it.”

“I love it,” Fareeha said, forcing a smile.

She wasn’t disappointed, no, not at all. In fact, she  _ had  _ wanted a CD player for a while now and this is exactly the kind she wanted. It was just the mere reason  _ why  _ it was given.

Fareeha placed the box beside her and began mindlessly poking the cake. 

Fareeha’s arm shook violently as she attempted to stab into the cake once more. Her eyes began to blur as tears attempted to gather in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly and tried to grab a bite of cake. The fork missed, slamming against the plate with a loud scratch.

Angela gently placed her fork onto the plate. She cocked her head. “Is everything alright, Liebling?”

Fareeha felt her face scrunch up as she desperately fought those angry tears from falling down her face. She stood from the table and balanced herself against the nearest wall. Her clenched fists shook until she finally slammed one against the wall. The furniture balancing against it shook. Angela yelped and stumbled back.

“You know what?” Fareeha spat. “No, I’m not happy, I’m not —”

She pressed her back against the wall and placed a hand over her mouth. The tears in her eyes began to overflow as her eyes grew blurry. Her eyes begged for her to blink, but god forbid she show any speck of weakness — at least, that’s what her sixteen-year-old self thought.

_ If you cry in class, they will stare. You’re a grown girl, an  _ Amari.  _ Warriors don’t cry. _

__ But her five-year-old self argued otherwise.

_ You’ll feel better if you let it all out. Scream, sob, stomp if you really want to. Gabriel cried, Jack cried… You can cry too sometimes. _

__ And so, Fareeha blinked. Warm tears rolled down her already burning cheeks. A heavy weight seemed to lift itself from her chest, and she let out a heavy sigh. Angela slowly stepped forward, gently stroking her cold hand across Fareeha’s jaw.

“Schatz?”

Fareeha sniffled and wiped the snot that had dribbled down her nose. “‘M sorry…” She mumbled through swollen lips and a heavy tongue.

“No, no, don’t apologize…” Angela murmured, tapping her sleeve against the tears staining Fareeha’s face. “I didn’t know you were…”

“It’s all so fucking tiring,” Fareeha groaned. She fell against Angela’s chest and sobbed into her shirt. “I just want to stop.”

Angela gave a soft chuckle and began curling Fareeha’s braids on her fingers. “If only it were that easy, huh?” She looked down at Fareeha and sighed. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Fareeha slowly began to fall to the floor, pressing her body against the rough yet soft carpet. Angela lied right beside her, watching her face with unjudgemental eyes. Fareeha sighed.

“I want to enjoy tonight, I really do, but I can’t —” She bit her lip and sniffled. She blinked away a few more rushing tears. “I  _ don’t  _ feel comfortable with…  _ This.  _ I know you care and you have no idea about the shit that went on while you were at med school, but I just can’t bring myself to  _ keep doing this  _ with you — this whole birthday charade.”

Angela’s eyes widened and she gripped Fareeha’s shoulders. “I didn’t — I didn’t realize…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Fareeha assured.”You didn’t know.”

“But I should’ve  _ noticed.  _ I just sat around blindly while you were upset.”

Angela’s eyebrows furrowed as she began mindlessly chewing her bottom lip (A habit Fareeha began to fondly notice). Fareeha smiled, slightly forced, but still genuine, and kissed Angela’s forehead.

“You didn’t need to notice anything.”

Angela arched an eyebrow. “We’ve been dating for a year now, ‘Reeha. I should’ve at least gotten a hint.”

“Well, now we know, huh?” Fareeha rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Besides, even if you didn’t notice, you still put effort into celebrating my birthday. The decorations, the dinner, the cake.”

“All for nothing,” Angela sighed, resting her head upon Fareeha’s chest. “All just to rub in that hurt.”

Fareeha’s lip curled into a smile. “I… Don’t see it that way. I see it as you genuinely caring, genuinely trying to make me happy… Especially after last year’s fiasco.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to smile. She snorted and smacked a hand against her forehead. “Gosh, don’t remind me about that! I still get weary when my stomach slightly hurts!”

“Well, it was still enjoyable in its own way. I got to spend time with you.” Fareeha pecked Angela’s head.

“You got to spend time with your girlfriend who was throwing up and sobbing the entire time. Not exactly enjoyable, is it?”

Fareeha shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Angela burst into laughter and shoved Fareeha’s shoulder. “Oh, shut up.”

They rested on the floor for the rest of the night. Fareeha fell asleep, still wearing her prosthetics, much to Angela’s chagrin. It’s not like she could complain too much though. It was quite nice just laying there, beside the woman she loved. No, she wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor for once, if it were just she and Fareeha.

* * *

The night always seems to come just a  _ little  _ too early or just a  _ little  _ too late on your birthday. And, perhaps, it’s like that every day, humans just don’t care enough to pay that much attention on any other normal day. But even then, we still feel that small sense of dread as the moon rises in all its milky, bright glory. The idea that this specific day, in this specific month, just for us, was about to be ripped away and we would become just another ordinary person once more. That always feels a little sour.

And for the first time in quite a while, Fareeha felt that way. The small ache in her chest as her eyes fluttered open, the sight of the large moon, no inch of the sun visible. She didn’t want this night to end. It wasn’t like it would affect her at all in the long run, it was just one simple night in an entire year, in an entire decade, in an entire century. The sun didn’t shift its cycle, nor did the moon, nor did any of the other planets. Everything was completely and utterly the same.

And yet, people changed. Angela changed, her father changed, her friends, who would send a sweet text in the morning wishing her a happy birthday; it seemed so insignificant, but it was so important to  _ them, _ to her. 

Maybe her birthday was nothing when it came to the universe, but to those around her? It meant everything.

And maybe, just maybe, it could mean something to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a few months late? Yes.
> 
> Am I sorry? Absolutely.
> 
> Did I honest to God make someone excited about getting a CD player in the year of our lord 2020? Unfortunately.
> 
> Thank you for reading this nightmare!!! ;0 I originally started this as a vent fic, but, hey, it turned into something better!

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, the shower thoughts haunt my memory and force me to write a story
> 
> Also, fun fact: The ripping of the card did happen to me on my ~7th birthday. Similar to Fareeha, I don't remember why it happened, but it hurt like hell
> 
> The song in the title is The Party by Regina Spektor!


End file.
